


The Man in Scarlet

by feardubh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dean/Benny Week, Gen, Middle Ages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feardubh/pseuds/feardubh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I knew the man in scarlet was formidable from the moment I saw him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man in Scarlet

**Author's Note:**

> I went with a medieval AU, in which Dean is of nobility (pure of blood, a twist on both the prompt of “pure” and the idea of vampires). It will be a fic of seven parts, one for each day/prompt.

I knew the man in scarlet was formidable from the moment I saw him. The rich color he wore was one thing; silky and red, the color of fresh blood, but his face was another. A smile, small and knowing, curled at the edges of his mouth, and it was the kind of smile that knew things. Dangerous things. Things that you whispered behind curtains in the dark because they were too monstrous for anyone to dare utter them when the pale sun shown. His eyes were blue like the sky before a hurricane, and in them shadowed secrets mixed with shades of azure and indigo and the gold of man’s greed. They were the tempestuous sea, and I feared them.

He rode in three days before the castle’s Festival of Vlad, a celebration we had cultivated for hundreds of years to honor one of our most legendary figures: Vlad, son of none, a myth of a man who saved us centuries past from the menace of the Cædali. The Cædali were even more obscure than the hero, a race of human-like being that preyed upon in the night with sharp teeth and cold claws until Vlad took his sword Vlëna and hunted them to extinction.

They say he killed so many that he washed the world in red and black; rivers ran with ruby and even the creamy moon dripped crimson. Vlad killed each and every one of them and hung their bodies in trees. A whole forest of trees, each with a body torn in two. No one really believes the stories anymore, though. They are something only told to disobedient children at their mother’s knee, around campfires by travelers sitting in the golden dark. Ghost stories. Those who put stock in such legends are giving themselves up for the dungeons of the insane.

The festival is the highlight of the year to many, myself included. The castle is decorated in sheets of black and red and gold, and for three days the participating inhabitants are divided into two factions. One is given black bands of leather that each must wear around his neck, and the other a silver dagger with white he cuts the band. Those with the mark are then dubbed Cædali, and they do not take their title lightly; many robe themselves in the colors of night and others wear fangs of dipped silver. They partake in wine and frivolities, sometimes hiding themselves in parts of the palace to jump out and frighten passing noblewomen and maids. On the first day they crown a leader and it is his duty to be the most vicious and frightful of the bunch; his band is scarlet.

The opposing side is that of Vlad, and they are the white knights, the saviors. Each is given a target, the name of a Cædali man written in red on a scrap of parchment, and a different Cædali is gifted with his. The job of the knight is to hunt down his Cædali and cut his band before the Cædali with his title find him and takes the dagger. When the dagger is taken, the Cædali takes a new leather and places it about the neck of his victim, effectively forming him into a new beast. Once either’s target has been acquired, he receives a new name.

In accordance, the knight with the most heads to his name wins and the reverse is true of the Cædali. However, the knights must also select their leader and dub him Vlad, and he is the seeker of the Cædali leader. He is given a sword to hunt his prey.

The two take the first days to amass their armies as Cædali change men to monsters and battle-hardened knights slay them. On the third day, all fighting is suspended, and though the leaders know not who the other is, he must pursue his foe. Here lies the importance of a greater faction; though the two begin in equal numbers the one with more on the third day has a greater crowd to camouflage him as he searches for his opponent.

This stranger arrived three days before the festival when the palace was in the full commotion and celebration that accompanies the times before the event. It was midday and the old stone walls echoes with the sounds of servants hanging drapery and the clatter of metal weaponry. Daggers were forged. The sword of Vlad glittered proudly in the throne room next to the factions’ banners of red stained black and blue-silver.

He rode up on the back of a dark horse with an attendant on either side; dressed in scarlet he cut an impressive figure. Our guards hailed him, and he gave his title. It was not uncommon for visitors to arrive in the days before a festival, particularly the autumn hunt or Winterfree, but a dozen or so came every year for the festival of Vlad. Unlike many other traditions it had no ties to the church or state and thus the frivolity of the matter drew many to favor it, though the season made travel unwise for some; the last of the harvest was to be collected and the bitter frosts were just setting in as the sun rose shorter each day. This man was no farmer of the nearby villages or nobleman of some palace in the province like our usual guests, however. In fact, no one could quite place the territory or crown which he claimed, but all could see he was of the pure blood of monarchy.

I was in the center grounds when he arrived, a place for the practice of weapons that overlooks the main gate. My sparring partner was my younger brother, who was charged with helping me prepare for the festival. Wooden shield in hand, he charged me time and time again as I familiarized my oaken sword with the brunt of his attacks. As the grating of the opening gates caught my attention, I raised on hand to my brother and he paused mid stride. We both turned to look; newcomers were a welcome distraction.

“That rider is one we have not seen here before- who do you think it is?”

“I know not, save that he is quite brightly garbed,” replied I. Samuel shook out his shoulder length hair and readied his shield. “Again!” he called, and we sprang into action again.

Eventually the ring of wood on wood became too much and we retired to the great hall. We were both covered in sweat and the grey dirt of the grounds dusted our clothing, but no one seemed to mind with all of the commotion. We ate, we laughed, and then we returned to our chambers to clean up.

I saw not the stranger from before until the next day. I rose early and went to the common ground again for a few hours until the sun rose high enough for me to see the castle in its entirety. My father had a well known house; five miles circled round and round again with a girdle of towers. A second ring of smaller quarters served as the housing of the servants and the guard, and in the center ring there stood most of the main buildings. In essence, the palace was in itself a small town. There was a butcher, a smith, the common ground, the stables, and in the very middle the noblemen’s rooms were built; the throne room, the great hall, the high chambers. The armory and the crown jewels were also housed here, as were our diplomats and courtesans.

The sun glimmered on the walls of stone and shone in the lake as I made my way to the stables. They smelled familiar, of animal and hay. My horse greeted me with unusual apathy; in fact, he seemed rather spooked. I called one of the stable boys and told him. He informed me that all of the steeds had been frightened- ever since he arrived.

He.

A brief glance around the rows of wooden stalls brought me to know of whom the boy spoke.

It was the man in scarlet. This morning he was dressed equally in crimson, and he sat next to the chestnut he rode in with. The horse nuzzled his hand affectionately, and his lips twitched into a smile as he turned and caught my emerald gaze with his azure.

“Who are you?” I called. He unnerved me, set my teeth on edge. I dislike it, and through it, I disliked him.

He smirked, and my eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” He had a strange accent- soft, foreign. I had never heard anything like it.

“You don’t know your place, you impertinent hell-hated lewdster.” My chin rose in defiance. I wasn’t used to having my titles challenged.

In an instant he was across the room, his fingers gripping my collar. “What did you call me?” The man’s face was inches from my own.

I shrank from his menace, then pulled myself tall and wrenched his hands from my shirt. “Get out. OUT.”

He pressed against me once more, baring his teeth, before shoving away and stalking out of the stable. One of the stable hands crept up. He was a blond child, and timid. I waved him away- I had no wish to speak- and exited.

Little did I know how close to danger I had come.


End file.
